


Pieces left behind

by Spectre_Anon



Series: Out of the Fire [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 17:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spectre_Anon/pseuds/Spectre_Anon
Summary: “So how did you lose it then?” he asked, trying to make it sound casual, an offhand query from idle curiosity and nothing more.“Lose what?”“The arm,” he said, not entirely convinced that Junkrat had forgotten already. He was a scatterbrain, there was no doubting that, but Roadhog was suspicious of half the stuff that supposedly 'slipped his mind'. As much of an idiot as he appeared at times there was more cunning to the excitable maniac than met the eyes. Probably how he wanted it.Junkrat and Roadhog trade secrets and eat lizards.





	Pieces left behind

“So how did you lose it then?” he asked, trying to make it sound casual, an offhand query from idle curiosity and nothing more.

“Lose what?”

“The arm,” he said, not entirely convinced that Junkrat had forgotten already. He was a scatterbrain, there was no doubting that, but Roadhog was suspicious of half the stuff that supposedly 'slipped his mind'. As much of an idiot as he appeared at times there was more cunning to the excitable maniac than met the eyes. Probably how he wanted it.

“Oh, _that_ , right...” Junkrat giggled, which told him exactly nothing. He would laugh at the drop of a hat. Same went for his grin. Sometimes he did it when he was nervous, or cheerful, or genuinely amused... or even if he was thinking particularly hard about blowing something up. It was all in the subtleties. Roadhog had only known the twitchy guy for a few months but he thought he was beginning to pick up on a few of the tells.

It was his posture you had to watch, to notice the slight shift as he angled himself forward or back, how he tensed if he thought there was a threat, the difference between the movements he made with anxious energy or exuberance.

The eyes helped too. His gaze was always skittish, zipping from one thing to the next almost constantly, but if someone had his attention he at least kept them in his peripherals, checking their face intermittently for a reaction.

Roadhog certainly had his attention now. He was studying the ex-enforcer carefully, fingers drumming on the ground. Apparently Junkrat reached a decision quickly because he leant forward suddenly where he sat, holding his metal arm out until it was nearly hovering over their small cooking fire.

“This here is a learnin' lesson mate,” he said, wiggling the digits, “bit of a bleedin' stupid one if ya ask me, but always figured it beat the alternative.”

When Roadhog said nothing he pulled the hand into a fist, grinning wickedly. “I punched it off is what!”

Roadhog grunted, unimpressed by the claim but Junkrat was already cackling, leaning away as his skinny frame shook with laughter. “It's the truth mate! Swear it!”

“Don't want to tell me then that's fine.”

“Nah, I ain't telling _porkies_ ,” he said, snickering at his own joke.

Clearly he was in a troublesome mood and Roadhog wasn't going to indulge him anymore. He ignored him and the inevitable fresh round of puns, instead poking at their food with a stick, testing the meat. Lizard was always a pain to cook. Once upon a time he wouldn't have even considered it but after the Omnium a lot had changed. Dining habits were only the tip of the iceberg.

“Was serious before,” Junkrat muttered once it became clear none of his jokes were getting a response. His thick eyebrows drew together in a scowl. He lifted his left hand to chew at the nails, amber eyes flicking up to stare at Roadhog's mask. “Course there's a bit more to it than that... I'll tell ya if ya _that_ interested... fair's fair though, got a question of me own I've been meanin' to ask.”

Roadhog considered him for a moment. Junkrat only grinned back. Fucker had something planned, he was sure of it, but it wasn't like it mattered. If it was something he didn't want to answer he could always refuse, and there wasn't much the little shit could do about it.

The outright fear Junkrat had of him had dulled pretty quickly but he still maintained a certain level of wariness, and for good reason. Roadhog could snap a man's spine with his bare hands if he wanted to. He'd even contemplated ending Junkrat just like that on more than one occasion. If he said no he knew the younger man wouldn't push too hard... oh he'd whine, but that was getting easier and easier to tune out these days... the constant level of chatter felt strangely normal now, disturbingly so. But he didn't want to think about that.

“Fine,” Roadhog agreed.

Junkrat clapped his hands together, straightening up momentarily. “Ace! Right... well, guess it was 'bout a couple of years back, maybe three... ain't so good with dates...” He scratched at his chin, expression contemplative.

Roadhog huffed.

Junkrat's eyes darted back up to him. “Not like it matters,” he said quickly. “Was before the treasure anyhows. Fell in with a few blokes who thought there was some real decent scrap to be had half a dozen clicks from the old Omnium... not a lot of people go pokin' too far out that way, not unless they're desperate, and heh, _I_ should know, but word was it was a good payday, just had to chase off the other idiots lookin' to pick it clean. Hadn't been havin' much luck for a while so I figured I might as well. Seemed like decent blokes too, offered a proper cut, no nonsense.”

He laughed again, tittering off to faint giggles. “Course there ain't no such thing as a decent bloke from Junkertown, right mate?”

“Didn't go well?”

“Nah,” he said. “So we trek all the ways out there, right, an' 'chasing off a few scavengers' turns out to be a lot more of an actual fight than scarin' off riff-raff. That gets everyone in a shitty mood. Nothin' like bein' shot to piss ya off. Guess there was ten of us left after that, an' all lookin' for someone to blame. One who planned the whole thing carked it though, so wasn't much to do. Finally got round to inspectin' the loot an whatdyaknow? Turns out it's nothin' special, split between us it don't even cover the bloody ammo or time wasted galavantin' out there... so a couple of them get thinkin' then... seem to think maybe if there's a few less to split it with it ain't so bad... Next thing ya know they're all fuckin' at each other's throats.”

“It happens. Gotta kill anyone who tries to cross you.”

“Yeah, well... we don't all got the luxury of bein' the 'one man apocalypse', yeah? An' me, I was shit out of ammo at the time. One of 'em must have figured as much, cos next thing I know he's goin' for me.”

“What did you do?”

“Threw me last grenade at him is what... woulda been really pretty... 'cept it was a dud.” He looked oddly embarrassed. “Not a bad distraction though. Get a good punch in, drops his gun, then we're scufflin' on the ground an' I'm just tryin' to keep a knife out me face... go to grab a rock or somethin' to brain him with, but I end up grabbing the old grenade...”

“And?”

Junkrat shrugged. “And I hit 'im with it. Blew me arm clean off. Course, blew his face clean off too so I reckon it was a fair trade.”

“You punched him with a grenade?”

“Exactly! Weren't thinkin' too hard at the time, busy not lettin' him kill me... always wondered what I fucked up though... something with the primer? Should've killed the twat the first time, dunno what went wrong.”

“What about the others?”

“No clue. Blacked out for a bit an' they left me for dead... them what was still alive anyhow. Might of been up for some revenge but the missin' arm seemed more like a priority ya know? Weren't their fault either, like ya said, it happens, not like it's personal or nothin'. Was more pissed at the grenade to be honest... spent weeks thinkin' about it...”

“Mistakes happen.”

“Can't just go makin' mistakes with explosives mate, love 'em to bits but they ain't so forgiving... but enough about that, fair's fair, a question for a question right?” he said brightly.

Roadhog gave a grunt, enough to indicate that might be the case. “What do you want to know?”

Junkrat leaned forward slightly with his usual demented grin, head tilted at a curious angle. “What ya hidin' beneath that mask, eh?”

Nosey bastard. Maybe he should have done more to maintain Junkrat's outright fear of him, general suspicion and wariness were not enough to stop his inquisitive nature. Now he'd bucked up the courage to ask there would be no end to it. He could threaten him into dropping it for now but somehow Roadhog was certain that this was the kind of question Junkrat's brain would latch onto. If he didn't give a memorable answer he'd be asking it for days without even recalling he'd done it before. It was going to be a nightmare.

“Come on mate, I ain't one to judge,” Junkrat coaxed, “no need ta be shy. Never figured ya for the bashful type.”

Roadhog gave a warning growl.

“Hey, we had a deal right? I kept me end. Is it too much to ask ta know what me own bloody bodyguard looks like?”

“You know what I look like.”

“Know what ya mask looks like, ain't the same thing.”

But it was. Junkrat didn't know. No one knew, because he never told them. The mask was his face, all that was behind it was a ghost, someone he'd spent years burying so that he could finally leave the past behind. He didn't want to explain that, certainly not to some skinny little shit with the most deranged sense of humor he'd seen and more live explosives than common sense. Junkrat was a job, fifty-fifty for protection duty, that was that. Why should he share anything? He was entitled to his privacy and the idiot would just have to suck it up.

Junkrat was already pouting, clearly displeased with Roadhog's silence. So what? Why should Roadhog care what he thought? He was a one man apocalypse. A monster. That was all he was. That was how it had to be. An unfeeling monster, just another part of this wasteland.

Yet for whatever reason he found himself hesitating. With a heavy sigh he reached back for the straps of his mask.

Immediately he held Junkrat's rapt attention, amber eyes wide and expectant. Roadhog undid the clasps slowly, still half convinced he would change his mind and realize how stupid this was, but they came undone and before he knew it he was lifting the mask away, blinking as he adjusted to the world without his lenses. The air tasted different too, unfiltered and dusty. Probably wouldn't do his lungs any favors but it wouldn't kill him.

His focus shifted back to Junkrat, measuring his expression across the cooking fire. It was difficult to pin, but if he'd had to pick a word for it he'd have settled for almost... disappointed.

Roadhog gave a wheezy chuckle. “Not what you expected?”

Junkrat shrugged, laughing back awkwardly. “Ya could say that. Always pictured scars of some kind... or like tusks, or ya had no nose, or half ya face was burt off, or... I dunno, somethin' right nasty... Hate to say it but ya look pretty damn normal mate.”

“Hmmm.”

Junkrat's brows furrowed, fingers trailing patterns in the dirt. “If ya ain't got nothin' to hide though, what's with the mask then?” he asked eventually, tapping at his own face as if to illustrate his point and leaving dirty smears in the process.

It was a while before Roadhog replied. “I killed a man.”

“Oh yeah?” That clearly sparked his interest. Junkrat shifted forward slightly, grinning in anticipation.

Roadhog shook his head, lifting the mask back into place. “Not a story for now.”

Junkrat deflated, but Roadhog was not budging this time. Mako was not a man he wanted to dredge back up again. He was dead, and so long as he remained that way then Roadhog had nothing to fear. A glimpse of his ghost was all Junkrat was allowed, even that wasn't something he should have shared. Why he had he wasn't even sure.

He tightened the straps, sealing himself away once more.

Junkrat was already chattering off on a tangent of some sort, poking at their fire with a stick he'd managed to pick up. He pulled back swiftly as Roadhog reached forward.

Carefully Roadhog took one of the lizards that had been cooking, testing the flesh to make sure it was done. Satisfied, he held it out. “Eat.”

At the invitation Junkrat snatched it eagerly, finally quietening as he ate in rapid bites, hunched over his food. Probably would have consumed the thing raw if that's how it was served. A lot of the younger Junkers were like that. Waiting for something to cook just gave someone more time to take it from you. They learned to eat as quickly as possible because meals could be few and far between, and you couldn't afford to lose one.

Mako would have found it sad, but Mako had died when he'd helped create this world. Roadhog didn't have to worry because he was the one taking those meals away from people. Roadhog didn't care. He'd steal and murder and destroy, and he'd _enjoy_ it. It was how he survived. That's what living out here was all about -surviving. At the end of the day that's all he ever did.

Roadhog ate his own lizard in silence, trying to forget the man he'd left behind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I was thinking about. I'm about halfway through the next chapter of 'gaining ground' if any of you are waiting for that, so depending on my motivation it should hopefully be done soon now that I have a break to write.


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